Jericho Point Read Online Free PDF Page B

checkbook?’’
    Her voice ice-picked from behind me. ‘‘What do you think you’re doing?’’ She was stalking along the hall, wagging her finger. ‘‘No. You talk to me, Evan. Me.’’
    Ricky’s gaze ping-ponged between us. He pressed the phone hard to his ear.
    Karen raised her hand as if to soothe him. ‘‘I’ve got this.’’
    Ricky returned to his call. She turned her gaze on me.
    ‘‘You have a problem with boundaries?’’ she said.
    ‘‘Do you keep the Datura checkbook locked up?’’
    ‘‘I told you what to do. Start doing it. Don’t jump the fence and drag my husband into this.’’ She chewed her gum. ‘‘He has bigger fish to fry. He’s finishing an album and planning the tour. He doesn’t need you turning him hectic.’’
    ‘‘How many people work for you? Who comes out to the house?’’
    ‘‘Plenty of folks. But you’re the one whose name ended up on those checks.’’
    ‘‘Which is why this whole thing is bizarre and stupid. If I had actually stolen those checks, I would have written them out to cash, not to myself. Not ever.’’
    The gum-chewing slowed. Her fawn eyes blinked.
    ‘‘Cash. Good point. That’s how I want the money.’’ She crossed her arms. ‘‘Monday. Get to it.’’
    I stormed out of the building. The wind caught me, raising tears in my eyes. How the hell was I supposed to find proof that I was in the clear? I stalked toward the parking lot. Rounding the corner of the building, I heard rap music reverberating from a car stereo. A BMW four-by-four, a big black X5, was emitting the boom. Its tinted windows vibrated with every thud. Its license plate read, JMSNWD. It was parked in a disabled spot.
    No, it was parked in two disabled spots.
    My scalp tingled with anger. The audacity. And Karen dared to lecture me about crossing boundaries? I beelined toward it, ready to lay into the chauffeur, bodyguard, whoever had parked here. I was ten feet from it when a shriek of laughter cut through the funk. In the backseat, a woman’s arm arced up. Her wrist was spangled with silver bracelets. Her palm slapped against the window. I slowed.
    The hand slid across the glass.
    The top of a head appeared in the backseat. Dark tangles. A man, looking down. The woman raised a leg and jammed her foot against the headrest of the driver’s seat. She wore black Caterpillar boots. Silver eyelets seemed to wink at me. I stopped.
    The man looked up, just for a second. He held poised, his features striped by light reflecting off the window. The woman’s hand pulled him back down. Before he disappeared, he grinned at me.

4
    I don’t remember starting my car or driving the first mile through downtown. Or anything, until I heard Toby Keith on the radio, that blue-collar Oklahoma baritone singing that he was going to kick somebody’s ass. I felt my palms, sweaty on the steering wheel, and my teeth, biting my cheek. I saw that I was flooring it up State Street toward the mountains, past empty sidewalks, store windows reflecting the sooty sky, blue banners whipping on lampposts.
    At the edge of my vision burned a gold corona of anger. And fear. Why didn’t I tell them? Why didn’t I say anything?
    Because the suspicion was only half-formed.
    Why didn’t I insist that they go ahead and call the police?
    Because when you do that, you surrender control to a machine that has power to seize your liberty. And because it was an inside job. And though I’d been in the Jimsons’ house, there was someone else who was inside plenty more than I.
    P. J. Blackburn.
    P.J. worked as Ricky Jimson’s gofer. I looked again at the photocopied checks, fearing in the pit of my stomach that P.J. had stolen them. His life had gone disastrously awry, and because of him I was in trouble.
    I drove out to Isla Vista and gave his apartment one more try. Nobody was home. I left him a note.
    Heading back to town, I cut through the university. When I reached the eastern edge of campus, I parked along